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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985382">Black Tights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire'>DevilOfWire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamlet - Shakespeare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Bottom Hamlet, Crying During Sex, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Established Relationship, Feet, Foot Fetish, Humiliation, Kink Shaming, Kinktober 2020, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Smut, Tights, Top Horatio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:47:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilOfWire/pseuds/DevilOfWire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em> 12. Feet | <strike> Shotgunning </strike> | Dacryphilia </em>
</p>
<p>Prince Hamlet’s humble servant is usually always so diligent, but it seems one thing can distract him, after all!
</p>
<p>Too bad that might end up being more to Hamlet’s detriment than his benefit, in the end…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DevilOfWire's Kinktober 2020 [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kinktober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Black Tights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 DO <em>NOT</em> READ.</strong>
</p>
<p>I’m not normally into feet very much, but when I am, it’s with socks on! Hence this! And black tights are rather lovely in the first place, don’tcha think? ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“This again? I shall repeat myself, Prince Hamlet, this is very, very important business. Embassies and allegiances and the like. I can not tear myself away from letter-writing just because you want to fool around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ ‘Fool around?’ ” The prince scoffs. “I never simply ‘fool around!’ For you to imply as such is quite the dishonour to my character, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not know. But I do know that I must finish these letters,” Horatio sighs, “even if it takes all night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All night?!” Hamlet groans, grabbing hold of the back of Horatio’s dark oak chair. “How could a few letters possibly take that long?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, very important stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet groans again. This time, very loud, purposefully irritating to his manservant who only blinks as a display of annoyance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d have to do better than that, Hamlet thinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After only a few more flourishing cursive letters, Horatio is interrupted by a pair of black leather boots, the arch of his ankles fitting perfectly over Horatio’s wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His instinct is to widen his eyes, shocked and offended at such a brazen action. A pair of boots—even if perfectly spit-shone and clean in all regards—on </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> personal study desk?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he remembers that this is no normal man, it is the royal prince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he can only sigh once more, scooting his chair and papers further away from Hamlet’s position on his own bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet laughs at his inability to punish him, as Hamlet clearly should be punished. Horatio does it more for appearances and structure than fear or anything else, he knows. Not like anyone else would know he’d pushed the prince’s boots from his desk because he was working diligently—like he should.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Hamlet would never tell anyone. Nor Horatio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only person they trusted to ever tell almost anything was the other, was the paradox.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Hamlet knows he can do whatever he wants in their isolated rooms in the castle’s royal quarters, Horatio would take it to his grave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio is only confused when those black boots return, but this time at an odd angle, laying against his hand rather limply. He furrows his brow. Surely Hamlet’s legs weren’t long enough to traverse the entirety of his desk?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He discovers that he is, in fact, correct.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet had simply kicked his boots off, letting them push against Horatio’s writing hand to distract him once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snickers as Horatio sets the pair carefully on the floor beside the desk, the tension in his body an obvious sign that he’d much rather toss them over his shoulder, but, of course, their being the prince’s, he could never.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the silliest thing about Horatio, was that he was a hypocrite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was an exception to his rule of hard work and traditional conventions set in stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that very thing just so happened to be one of Hamlet’s favourite ways to pass the time, on dull days such as these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That being sex, of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet just had to find a way to lead into it, without being too obvious. And, preferably, with a better result than last time. Which meant he had to be that much more distracting, of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But first, Horatio’s smooth voice pulls Hamlet from his filthy line of thinking, “Do you not have anything better to do today, than to bother me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What offensive words! But no, I do not. I’m a prince, after all, what do you think I do but laze around when not appearing in superficial ceremonies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio shakes his head, but picks up the writing once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet pouts, deciding a decent-enough distraction for now was simply speech: “Do these damn letters really need finishing today? I say we should go somewhere fun, say, the graveyard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I disagree with your notion of fun. But yes, time is of the essence. Which is why you should leave me be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And do what?” Hamlet breathes, shaking his legs enwrapped in black tights, in either anxiety or excitement, perhaps a mix of both.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio pauses his writing once more, finding the now-vibrating table to be a lacklustre surface for the delicate duty of penmanship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Anything. What did you do before you started bothering me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haha! Trick question! For you’ve been indebted to me since our births, and so I’ve bothered you ever since! Only that used to be in a markedly more innocent way, but it’s all the same.” Hamlet hums, flexing his feet covered by the barely sheer black of his tights upon Horatio’s precious desk, a funny sight. “Perhaps there are some cons to being set up with a lifelong confidant since the beginning of your life, hm? Now I don’t know how to do anything without you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio puts his quill down, propping his head on his hand, elbow on the table which continues shaking with Hamlet’s movements. “You’re a quick enough learner. I’m sure you could figure something out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet makes a sound like he’s not so sure of that, rearranging his feet one atop the other, in a little game on the top of his polished desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I think we have the most fun, don’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet expects another witty reply, but instead there’s a brief pause. He raises a brow, spotting that his servant is simply staring at his tight-swathed feet, in a way not at all dissimilar to spacing off. But as Hamlet raises a leg into the air, he finds that Horatio’s eye follows it, all the way back to the table as Hamlet bends his right leg at the knee upon it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio then leans back up, clearing his throat. “What was that? Sorry, I, um- You know, you really should leave me to finish thes-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet laughs loudly, loud enough it reminds them to be thankful their rooms were at the end of an empty hall in the spacious castle. “Oh, Horatio, Horatio. You have a fascination with legs? Or is it feet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet sneers at Horatio’s obvious discomfort, his twitching limbs and reddening face. “Oh, I never would have guessed! How has this not come up, in the years I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>bothering</span>
  </em>
  <span> you in such a way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mere coincidence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is? It never coming up, or you just so happening to fixate on my feet like they were a mystical being?” He laughs again, sitting up, but keeping his heels firmly propped on Horatio’s desk. “Just admit it, Horatio, you like them, don’t you? I can’t say I blame you, black, semi-sheer tights like these,” he mutters, pinching a bit of the tight fabric and letting it snap back down on his upper thigh, “they really are rather arousing, in a way, aren’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To all of his blasphemous questions, Horatio stays utterly silent, and still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too silent and still, dare Hamlet say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes his legs together, from thigh to calf all the way to his pointed toes, grinning from ear-to-ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he has found the thing to catch his servant’s rightful attention, after all!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, blessedly, it isn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird. Sure, it is a bit unusual, but compared to some of the things the Danish prince has heard in hushed tones or read in aged books, it was nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say,” Hamlet says, sliding his feet done from the desk and letting them hang in the air for a tense moment, before propping them directly upon Horatio’s firm lap, “will you be a true and trusted royal confidant and servant...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet smirks, murmuring in a sing-songy voice, “And give my tired feet a well-deserved royal massage?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet fully expects a chide such as, “Why would they be tired? All you do is laze around, as you stated,” or maybe for Horatio to refuse him outright, an indignant turn back to his work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But instead, what he gets is far greater. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For Horatio suddenly grabs his feet with both hands, and Hamlet finds quickly that his immediate reaction of tugging in his grasp has no effect, he’s holding them that firmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Hamlet gets what he asks for, at least. Horatio’s long fingers only slightly more calloused than his from less-than-princely duties of manual labour press into all the right places upon his skin, smoothing over the soft fabric of his stretchy tights before pressing it in to pinch it between his toes, tickling him something awful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands certainly are skilled, his hold delicate, movements precise. So once Hamlet gets over the initial strangeness of the sensation, that ticklish feeling goes away, allowing him to sit still on the bed and not kick Horatio square in the crotch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But perhaps those things are actually bad, because with wide eyes and a clear mind no longer finding this act humorous much at all, Hamlet spots the clear evidence of Horatio’s enjoyment, hidden behind his own dark, tight, tight pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Hamlet swallows, nervously laughing, “I apologize profusely for teasing you, Horatio. But I think I’ve had enough fun for today, I’ll just leave you to your letters n-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Horatio says, very matter-of-factly, even as he worships Hamlet’s feet like his very life depended on it, not even attempting to hide his obvious erection all the while. “You have teased me, and bothered me, for hours now. I think it only fair to not only give you what you want, but me, as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Horatio-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet’s cut off by a gasp, as his servant drops all pretences of professionalism, one of his deft hands drawing back to his own pants to push them down just enough to pull his hard cock from his trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he can only sit there dumbly on Horatio’s bed, legs slid over his desk still filled with letters and quills and books, as a throbbing cock is dragged against his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thin material of the tights does nothing to lessen that odd sensation of immense heat, growing wetness that must only be from his sweat, pre-cum, dragging along the underside of his feet being moved to and fro by confident hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet still can’t quite believe what’s happening at all, but the proof is right before him, as Horatio thrusts between the arches of his feet just as much as he uses his hands to force them down on his cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And despite his obvious depravity in using a prince of all people’s lowliest body part to get himself off, Horatio shows no signs of shame. Not that he usually does. But it’s especially remarkable now, not even expressing much emotion, passion, other than a few forceful breaths as he’s obviously enjoys this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A lot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too much, in Hamlet’s opinion. He enjoys this far, far too much for his liking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what say does Hamlet have? He is the one who asked for this, after all. And, he’s just as hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Horatio makes the decision to rise from his chair, still keeping Hamlet’s feet pressed around his cock, and moves to the bed, he doesn’t even try to argue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he is still gracious enough to ask, “Would his highness also like to be pleasured?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet is fearful of what exactly that might detail, but does want that quite badly, so mutters, “Y-yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio nods, like he’d just been given an order to fetch him a glass of milk or something as utterly mundane as that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was nothing mundane about this, as Hamlet is held into the air before being twisted around, forced onto his stomach, as he knows that even if he tried to resist, Horatio would surely over-power him with his larger stature and size.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, to be fair to Horatio’s foot fetish, the knowledge of the flipped power dynamic here is almost just as weird, and definitely turns Hamlet on, although it should embarrass him, disgust him. Perhaps that why it does. Perhaps the same could be said of Horatio, to an extent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But before Hamlet can theorize about the source of sexual perversions more, he feels his tights being tugged down past the round curve of his ass, stopping just enough to allow something cool and wet to slide against his hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he’s quite used to this, although, again, he definitely shouldn’t be. So all it takes is the tiniest of nods, and then Horatio’s finger inserts itself into him with a speed, a desperation, that is somewhat unexpected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God, he must really like the whole feet thing quite a bit, then. Hamlet would find it funny, if he weren’t getting his prostate stimulated by two fingers now, the warmth from Horatio’s body behind him a searing reminder not to do so. Not that he would really get mad, but if previous experiences were anything to go by, the man could certainly lay a good hand on him, if he really deserved it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And really, going back to his awful teasing, Hamlet does deserve this, doesn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet moans into the covers, gripping them enough to turn his fingers white, as the blunt head of Horatio’s red cock presses against his entrance. This part’s always the hardest, the initial penetration. With just such a tight ring of muscle, it was no wonder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But a decent, insistent pressure from Horatio’s hips later, and he’s firmly inside his dear friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pain quickly subsides after a few thrusts, giving away to the more intense pleasure that blossoms in Hamlet’s lower abdomen, a satisfying filling sensation that he must admit he’s addicted to by now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it would seem that that won’t be all the discomfort and humiliation of tonight, oh no, as Hamlet feels his legs rearranged, grabbed by the ankles by two strong hands that force him into a rather uncomfortable position, but definitely a possible one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet moans as he realizes what Horatio’s done, the feeling of a cock sliding between his feet once more returning, but this time added with the sheer pleasure of getting fucked at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> What a horribly clever servant he has, brilliant even in sadism, it seems. For he’s positioned Hamlet in the perfect way to contort his body so he may fuck him and also have his soles press against the rest of his shaft on either side, fingers running over whatever he can get: heel to arch, bony knuckle to toes curled tight in pleasure, snapping at the black tights to pinch the skin beneath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, it seems this entire performance isn’t affecting Horatio as much as Hamlet believes it definitely should, the man finding his voice even as he pants with effort enough to say, “See, Prince? This is what happens when you bother me all day, every day. Is this what you desired?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet shakes his head, but can’t attempt to respond, too busy spilling moans accented by meaningless curses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio leans down enough to whisper his voice close to Hamlet’s ear, chest pressing down on the small of his back and swarming him in heat to rival the sun. “You should be ashamed, really. To not only allow yourself to be sodomized by your closest manservant, but to allow him to use your feet as an instrument of his vile perversion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet feels the almost familiar sensation of tears pricking at his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he stops them, trying to ignore Horatio’s words laced with false venom, the hard thrusts into his ass somehow only better by the pain of his lower half’s contortion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But the worst part?” Horatio spits, the lilt of his voice meaning he must be sneering at Hamlet’s predicament. “You are always the one to ask for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“N-no,” Hamlet can just barely whisper, shaking his head, even though they both know it’s pointless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But yes, Hamlet. Every time, it is you. It was you the first time, and every single God damned time after that. Even now, you are the one who started this. And although I might take pleasure in it myself, I only ever do what you truly want. Isn’t that right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet’s overwhelmed, body and mind, the hypocrisy, blasphemy of their situation, relationship, this single scenario, all confusing him to the point he can’t even begin to answer the question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead, it all spills over into tears, as his body convulses with an intense orgasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the sight of those tears, his obvious internal struggle that must be going on, the body squeezing, twisting beneath his own, from warm hole to the feet still pinned to his cock, Horatio climaxes as well. And while Hamlet’s seed is stuck to the cover to merely smear his belly, Horatio can cum right into his open, pliant body, filling him with hot, white cum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, he lets go of Hamlet’s feet, his legs immediately straightening out, an awful ache coming to life from having been squeezed tight in such an unnatural position for entire minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But all in all, despite the oddity, the sin, the shame, they’re both glad that they did it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet wipes his tears away, looking back to Horatio still lying on top of him, cock still inside of him, but growing slowly back to softness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The prince still has the gall to smile, voice only a little hoarse from screaming in pleasure but a moment ago as he says, “Well, Horatio, I might be a hypocrite and a constant thorn in your side, but you’re the real loser here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I?” Horatio asks, reminding Hamlet who still had the upper hand with a slight shift of his hips against him, drawing a whimper of overstimulation from him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hamlet purses his lips, glaring back at Horatio as he nods. “Yes, you are,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then his smile returns, kicking his feet slightly as he finishes, “Because, now, I know exactly what I must do to make you do this to me, every time. You might be immune to even a warm, wet hole on your cock, but feet on your lap? Oh, apparently, that would be the key, it turns out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Horatio shakes his head, but chuckles quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try me,” he challenges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Hamlet snickers back, “I will. Tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><hr/>
<p>
  <em>Check me out for updates and art and stuff! &lt;3
</em>
</p><ul>
  <em>
<li>

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</em></p>
</li>
<li>

<p><em><a href="https://twitter.com/DevilOfWire">SFW Twitter</a><br/>
</em></p>
</li>
<li>

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<p>
  <em></em>
</p><hr/>
<p>Whew, this is late! Oh well, I wanted it to be the best I could make it… is my excuse at least, lol! Ty for reading! ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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